


Health Issues

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel Adventures: Avengers, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Coming Untouched, Fingerfucking, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Getting Together, M/M, Medical Examination, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP without Porn, Pining, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Rimming, not really just yet, off-screen biohazard, pining!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Coulson. Of course Barton refuses for anyone else to do the exam except Coulson. It has to be Coulson. </p><p>"Alright, Agent. Strip." Coulson directed as he shrugged out of his own Aramani Jacket and draped it over the chair like he was asking Clint to take out eggs from the refrigerator and cook breakfast. "Pants off. You can fold them on the table." he said, gesturing to the stainless examination table that was pushed on one side of the room. </p><p>"I'm surprised SHEILD has protocols for experimental Russian bio-hazards. I'm not sure how female handlers are supposed to handle their male assets when it's like this. That's a sexual harassment lawsuit ready to happen. Sure as hell glad that you're, uhm,  very male, sir."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Health Issues

Clint hated medical for a reason. It wasn't just the smell of antiseptics that got to him; it was the smell, the look, and the _feel_ of the medical bay that got his skin crawling. As it is, he sat in one of the examination beds in Medical, just waiting. He hated waiting--sometimes.

"Agent Barton" the all too familiar voice greeted. It calmed him but prickled his skin with heat at the same time. This was the voice in his ear, the one person he could trust during ops no matter how shitty it got, and the only man he could ever had fallen in-love with. He had to bite himself to keep from whimpering like a love sick fool because they were still asset and handler. Knowing Coulson, this would change nothing between them.

"Sir" he greeted back in a hoarse and gruff voice. It was the best he could do without choking back a sob of relief at seeing his handler for the first time in four months. He kept it as professional as he could without betraying the sheer joy of just seeing the real Agent Coulson in front of him. 

"Alright, Agent. Strip." Coulson directed as he shrugged out of his own Aramani Jacket and draped it over the chair. He made the order sound simple like he was asking Clint to take out eggs from the refrigerator and cook breakfast. "Pants off. You can fold them on the table." he said, gesturing to the stainless steel examination table that was pushed on one side of the room.

"Geez, sir. You sure can get down to business." Clint attempted ill-humour to hide how very conscious he was at the moment. He was used to undressing in the field without preamble, removing blood-soaked clothing so his handler could see his wounds, but never this. Not in a room in medical where _that_ was just about to happen. Not when he would have Coulson's fingers _inside_ of him. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it. Oh no, that wasn't it.

He _dreamed_ of those long pale fingers penetrating him since Cardiff. Since he saw Phil in the rain looming over him, calling out his name and pressing against the bullet wound on his side to keep it close. He didn't think that he would live that night, let alone have that gorgeous man hover over him like a mother hen while he was in the safe house. Coulson had dressed his wounds, kept him fed, and even gave him a freaking sponge bath while they waited for extraction. It was the best damn two days of Clint's life. It was also the day that he could no longer look at Coulson as just a handler.

"I'm surprised SHEILD has protocols for experimental Russian bio-hazards. I'm not sure how female handlers are supposed to handle their male assets when ( _coughs)_ it's like this. That's a sexual harassment lawsuit ready to happen. Sure as hell glad that you're, uhm,  very male, _sir_." He managed to get that last bit out without biting his tongue half-off in the process. In his career, he has cursed the tough mesh of his kevlar-lined tactical suit on numerous occasions. He was grateful that was so tight that it clung to nearly every curve of his body when he was on the field because it allowed movement but it was so goddamn hard to shimmy out of without putting his ass on full display. He did his best to look nonchalant about the whole affair.

"Assets can always request medical staff to do the exam when their handlers are... less than ideal. You seem to be the only operative who prefers it to be the other way around and request your _handler_ to do it for you."

Clint would pat himself on the back for not wincing when Coulson said 'handler' like it was more of a curse rather than a well-sought after position in SHIELD. It was too late now. He can't back down and request for medical staff; not when he was naked from the waist down and Coulson's glorious lean muscular forearms were  already exposed like that. Damn, he'd never seen Coulson in anything but pressed suit ensembles. God knows _what else_ the man hid under those stupid things.

"That's 'cause I don't trust medical, sir. I trust you." he said before he could catch himself. Sometimes he hated that his mouth was faster than his brain. _I trust you not to hurt me. I trust you not to take advantage. I trust you not to let this change anything between us._ He inwardly bit his lip as punishment but kept his face as lax as he could without being too obvious that it was a cover. He saw Coulson just nod from the corner of his eye, folding up his sleeves in a perfected tuck. "How do you want me sir?"

Coulson says nothing and simply gestures to the bed. Clint wordlessly hauls his body by the mere strength of his arms and sits on the bed. He's had fantasies about this, about having Coulson looks at him with lustful eyes filled with want and need. But not like this, not in medical, with only the upper-half of his tact suit and boots with too many buckles still on his feet. Like this he felt exposed. A sniper should never feel exposed.

"I assume you've been briefed." Coulson asks mildly as he hands Clint a small bottle with a single pill inside and a bottle of water. Then, he pulls on the goddamn medical chair like a professional and sits at the edge of the bed. He pads his palms over his black slacks and waits wordlessly. Clint nods and opens the bottle, eyeing it sceptically for a moment or two and assessing what drug was being used on him. Years as a merc had him cautious about unknown drugs that he's being told to swallow. It doesn't matter _who_ hands it to him.

"It's an organic drug used in the Micronesian countries. SHIELD has been medicinzing it." Coulson answers as if reading his mind. "It wears of pretty quickly. Depending on your treatment, we may or may not have to give you another dose." He patiently waits for Clint to swallow the pill and takes back the aforementioned items. He places them on the table beside Clint's pants and underwear. Then he pats his hands together, readying himself for what was to come.

Clint fights the crawling sensation under his skin and the urge to fidget uncontrollably. He does remarkably well at both, especially considering how jittery his skin feels.  "You've done this before, sir?" He tried to sound as cool and composed as Coulson looks but he knows that his knuckles are snow white on the edge of the bed. Coulson is just looking at him patiently.

"Once on the field. Extended mission." Coulson doesn't elaborate and Clint know better than to prod. Some secrets were buried for a reason. There was a pang of regret welling up in his chest--someday _this_ would be a buried secret too. He hates that _this_ stupid bio-hazard induced interaction _means something_ to him. He hates himself more because he admits to that it.

"Would you prefer to see, Agent? Or would you like to face the wall?" Clint hears Coulson ask him. He thinks for a moment, gulping down the jealously that Coulson has done _this_ before--that Coulson has been _with another agent_ like this before. He feels the hurt ebbing into his stomach and curls at the emotion. He shouldn't feel like this but he does. It makes him feel--unspecial. He'd never felt so ordinary since _before_ entering SHIELD. It was like he was back to being a foster kid, hiding in the shadows and blending with the walls, all over again.

"I'm a sniper, sir." He grits in lieu of a response. "I don't like it when things are out of my scope."

Coulson just gives him an understanding nod. "Lie down" he hears Coulson order. He does, bringing his booted feet flat on the edge of the bed, unwilling to be fully exposed just yet. The shirt doesn't cover much and his pretty sure his ass is naked for all its muscled glory. He still makes a futile attempt to cover his backside with his boots. It gives him some semblance of control which he's about to lose.

He can _feel_ Coulson's eyes on him and the prickling heat that washes over his skin. He stares as the bland white-tile ceiling and forces himself to breathe. He is hyperaware of his surroundings because Coulson is _right_ there by the edge of bed but he can't see Coulson. This isn't going to work if he's lying down and he can't fucking _see_ the other man.

He shivers involuntarily. He forces himself to calm down because he trusts Coulson. He trusts his handler to get him home every single mission. He trusts that voice in his ear to keep him alive. He shivers again remembering Coulson's breathy _'Stay with me, Agent'_ over and over again. He wants to hear that heated tone in other circumstances. For the first time, he thanks medical that he can blame the drugs for the reason his body's animalistic reaction to Coulson's gaze.

As if answering his plea, one of Coulson's hands ghost over the side of his thigh and presses a button. He listens to the chime of gears and the telltale click that unlocks the bed from its prone position. Suddenly, he is sitting down, curled into a fatal ball on the bed--no, it was more like a chair now. He idly slips his feet down, letting his erection stand proudly over his stomach, and gulps. Coulson's eyes are trained on him. His dick jerks at the undivided attention.

Coulson presses more buttons and the sides of the bed--or chair--lift up. The touch of Coulson's warm hands sear the skin of his legs. Clint obediently parts his legs, resting his calves on either sides of the padded contraptions. He is spread uncharacteristically wide but it doesn't bother him because he's been in the circus and he can do splits even with his eyes closed. His ass his just on the edge of the bed and his dick is hanging proudly on his stomach.

It's Coulson's ever stoic gaze that hits him like a punch to the stomach. Need and want and lust surge into his nether regions before he has time to comprehend. The position makes his so exposed and embarrassed. It makes his feel vulnerable; more so, with Coulson hovering between his thighs. He feels strange because he discovered that he likes it. He likes being spread wide and having Coulson between his legs. He would need a thousand hours on the range to get rid of the image he is etching into his mind. It's a good year's worth of jerk-off material.

Coulson shifts closer, breath hovering on the inside of Clint's left thigh, as he reaches for a box underneath the exam table. It's a box of latex gloves, the standard kind that they usually use in medical. "I'm allergic to latex" Clint blurts out and forgets to stop his blush. He feels like he should close his legs and salvage as much of his manly dignity as he can. But then, he is frozen by the expression of shock on Coulson's face. The man looks---surprised? stunned? He's never seen that look on Coulson's face before but it's delicious. He craves to see more.

"Should I...? I'm sorry, sir. I should have informed you beforehand." He tries to lift his feet but Coulson's hand is wrapped gently on his ankle. Coulson opens his mouth and closes it again like he was biting back a question. Clint feels like he should answer it anyway. "I wear female seamless panties underneath whenever SHIELD has me undercover. It irritates that hell out my skin and I'd rather not, you know, have it _inside_ me. I don't know what damage it will do on my insides. I--I don't like it." It's also the reason he hasn't been laid in a few years. Females these days always want rubber: no glove, no love rule. He's also never been with a man before.

"It's--it's fine, Agent. Your body, your rules." Coulson puts away the gloves and looks at it with disgust. Clint would like to think that Coulson is disgusted with the idea of fucking up his inside rather than disgusted with the idea that he will have to _touch inside_ without the rubber. He really hopes it's the first one; he doesn't know if he can bare the second.

 "Are there anymore allergies that I should be alerted of, Agent Barton?" Coulson's voice is stiff and steady like he was straining to keep it together. It kills Clint how much he is forcing Coulson to suffer. He lowers his gaze and, In a very small voice, he answers back.

"Lubricant."

"What?"

"I'm allergic to lubricant. The medical stuff that SHIELD has. I use the organic one or mineral oil. The synthetic stuff... makes me itch." He grips the sides of the bed and keeps his voice as flat as possible. He doesn't shake or croak, and takes it as a good sign. The embarrassment of having to admit _that_ to the man of his wildest fantasies is not enough to deflate his erection. He blames it on the drugs. Coulson places a heavy hand on his knees and he shifts a little because it's a familiar weight but the touch is foreign. Clint hisses.

"We don't have _organic_ _lube_ in SHIELD." Coulson finally speaks after a long while. There is a strain in his voice and a heaviness that Clint can't quite recognize. He sinks back into the chair as reality comes crashing down on him. He thinks of how Coulson must be disgusted by the entire affair. He would shuffle Clint off to another handler and never request Clint on ops again. The thought is enough to allow a small helpless whimper escape his lips. He hates himself and his stupid body for jeopardizing the best thing, the longest semblance of a healthy relationship, that's happened to him.

"You don't have to... you can just give one of those Silicone things and, oh yeah, I can't handle those things too. Maybe a cucumber or something? I can take care of myself." he stammers out and curses like an idiot when he registers how much the last suggestion sounded. Cucumber! Now Coulson will never forget that line whenever he eats a cucumber again. He will have to take the cucumber out of his diet altogether. That sucks because cucumber is good for his eyes too.

"Clint" he freezes and looks at Coulson with big doe-like eyes. Coulson's hand on his knees are firmer now. He can't find his voice so he simply listens. "You are my assets and I am your handler. I promised that I will protect your health and your condition."

"Or you can just shove it in, sir, but don't get medical to do it... It's not like it's never happened before." He winces as he reveals that to Coulson. That was years, and years, ago. He should be able to talk about it without wincing but he failed. He _sees_ Coulson's worried eyes, just a micro-millimetre narrower than normal. But he reads it just fine. He did, after all, have the best goddamn eyes in SHIELD. He'll be damned if he missed that. He can't miss that, not when Coulson was so close.

"It was in the circus. I was, uhm, young. It was the Swordsman. He kinda fucked me up, literally. That's why I think I'm allergic to latex. It's a subconscious reaction because my body remembers what my mind forces me to forget. He used latex then too. Thank goodness he used latex because he wasn't really the cleanest person in the circus. But yeah, I'm clean just in case you're worried, sir. I won't ask you to... I'm not asking you to... uhm, yeah, just stick it in and get it over with, yeah? I'll heal."

Coulson looked like he was angry. There was a wrinkle in the corner of his eyes, a small wrinkle that wouldn't be noticeable if he wasn't looking. But it was there and Clint was able to see it. He felt the overwhelming urge to assure Coulson somehow. "I--I left the circus after that. I haven't been with anyone since. I don't know what he looks like now, sir. It's been ages."

"Give me his name." Coulson said icily.

Clint swallowed, throat feeling unbelievably dry despite the bottle of water he recently finished. "I--I just knew him as the Swordsman, sir. I never got his name. He never told us." He watched as Coulson's brilliant blue eyes darkened and he swallowed. If this wasn't a SHIELD trained operative, one of the best handlers, and most badass person he's ever met, Clint would have read that gaze to be desperation. But Coulson doesn't do desperation.

"Understood, Agent."

"Sir, it's alright. It'll only sting at the start..."

Coulson was very quiet for a while. The tension in the air still was not enough to deter Clint's raging erection. Damn, he hated those stupid drugs now. If only there was a way to stop this and save their relationship. He would gladly take any drug, no matter how experimental just to remove _that_ pained look on Coulson's face.

 "Agent Barton--Clint---I _will_ do this. I will do this _properly_. I will not penetrate you without some sort of lubrication because that will hurt and I will not have any of my assets--you--compromised, especially not if I can to anything about it. So I will ask you once, do you trust me?"

It should not have hit Clint as hard as it did but Coulson's words were like an arrow through his heart. Clint closed his eyes, feeling Coulson's fingers ghost over his hole but not quite touching. He would _sense_ with his whole body how rigidly Coulson was holding his own body. "Yes" he breathe out and visibly saw the man before him relax. "I trust you¸ sir."

 Coulson lowers his head. His shoulders are broad and Clint wants nothing more than to grab those shoulder and make sure to leave bruises that will last for a week. But he doesn't and keeps his hands firmly on the metal frame of the bed. It's like Coulson can read him like an open book because he says "Brace, yourself, Agent." Clint understands instantly and obeys. He shifts up, takes Coulson's shoulder with either hand and squeezes when he feels something wet and warm touch his hole.

"Jesus, fuck, sir" he rasps out, unable to hold himself steady as Coulson--no Phil, he should call the man licking his ass by his first goddamn name--tenderly gets him open. Phil's strong large hands prod apart the globes of his ass and swipes that talented tongue flatly over his hole. Clint shivers and mutters another round of incoherent curses like "Oh sweet Jesus. Holy fuckity fuck. Fuck. Damn. Shit. Sir!" and hits the side of the bed with his fists HARD because god Phil has a hidden talent.

Phil lifts his head and for a moment Clint is afraid that he majorly fucked up somehow. Clint makes the mistake of looking down and seeing the thin bridge of saliva still connecting Phil's mouth to his ass. His ass clenches involuntarily and a shudder runs up his spine. His feels the bumps rising on his skin as the wetness of Phil's saliva drip out of him. "Sir, honestly, you don't have to---"

He is cut off when Phil actually _growls_. The sound is deep, feral, and possessive. Phil dives back in, firmer this time, and more confident. Then, he _inhales_. Clint is so grateful that he decided to take a shower before the Op. But the smells of soap was long gone after a gruelling mission and he freezes. He is keenly aware of how he must smell--sweat, dusty, and pungent. But Phil makes another growling noise and it sounds like he approves of how Clint smells like. It fills him with unprecedented glee.

Clint tries his very best to keep his hips from twitching forward. "Fuck, fuck, fuck" It's all he can say to keep from shouting _'Yes! Fuck, sir. Yes, I want it so bad. I love your tongue in my ass. It's amazing, I can cum right now with just that tongue. I can't believe that I am getting tongue-fucked by the man of my dreams'._ The tongue prods him until he is pliant and open, until his hole is puffy and red, and until his throat is hoarse and raw. He continues with the litany of curses.

Coulson thrusts up his tongue and it feels like it's _spearing_ right through him. He can't suppress the involuntary shiver that racks up his entire body. "Oh god, sir" he groans aloud, and fights the restrains holding down his legs. He wants, he wants so bad to wrap his legs over Phil's shoulders and keep him there. He cries out wantonly when he feels his cheeks being spread apart and Phil's tongue is licking up his crease. Oh god, it's so good. He can die right now and be happy wherever he ends up.

"SWEET JESUS!" he yells when he actually hears Phil _spit_ , loud and dirty, into the palm of his large hand. It makes a squelching sound as Phil rubs his fingers together to spread the spit. He can't stop himself. He lifts the hands off Phil's shoulders and strokes the back of his handler's head. The man nearly purrs and he feels the vibrations radiate from his ass. He imagine, very briefly, it the older man did that sound around his cock, and he positively keened at the thought. "Sir, I'm gonna..." he warned.

A hand came swiftly around his shaft and squeezed enough to sting. It takes almost everything out of him not to whine at the touch. "You will not cum." Phil's authoritative voice only made his erection harder and more painful. "Not until I have thoroughly massaged your prostate and finished the exam. Do you understand, Agent?" Clint nodded weakly.

"Do.you.understand.agent?" Phil repeated, firmer and stronger, stressing each carefully said word from his lips.

"Yes, sir." Clint managed, struggling to keep the sob from escaping his throat. He needed--he needed--he didn't know what he exactly he was mentally begging for until-- _that_. He needed the breach of Phil's saliva coated finger in him. It was a sweet, slow burn that was not as painful as he expected it to be. It was a shallow drum of sensation that felt like every nerve which he didn't know existed were awakening to Phil's touch. Phil pushes his finger slowly, allowing Clint to be accustomed to the penetration and stays very, very still.

"You're so fucking _tight_ " He hears Phil grit behind clenched teeth. He squirms because god that sound makes him hornier than he's ever been in his life. Instantly there are a thousand fantasies of being _penetrated_ by Phil. He's never wanted that from another man before. But with Phil--he's willing to do anything as long as it's Phil. "How long has it been?"

"Too long. Too long, sir." Clint clenches his ass because he wants to keep those fingers inside him. Phil curves his fingers and it makes him melt. He hears Phil growl and he finally confesses. "Never. Just you, sir. Never had anyone's fingers, URGH, inside!" Phil makes a sound of pure contentment and Clint help but feel the blossom of happiness flutter inside his chest.

"Fuck, _Phil_ " he howled loud enough that he was sure _some_ sound made its way out of the sound-proof medical room of SHIELD HQ. He let the name slip unconsciously. He wasn't even sure if Phil heard him.

"Tell me what you need, Clint. I need you to tell me."

"Move, sir. I need you to move." He looks down and sees where Phil is touching him. He sees where Phil's knuckle disappears into the depths of his own body. And he knows that _Phil's_ finger is _in_ him, touching places which have never been touched to tenderly before. It makes him clench uncontrollably like a wanton whore. He's praising all of his angels and saint for his pristinely perfect eyesight right now.

"Damnit, Barton. Don't clench your ass so hard. It'll hurt you." Clint whimpers and tries his very best to relax at the intrusion.

Phil gently feels around Clint's rectal walls. Clint could fucking feel the finger inside him moving in an unnecessarily slow place. He fidgets not because he's hurt or he's in pain but because it's so damn slow and he needs to wait. He hates waiting. He controls his breathing and forces himself to loosen up on Phil's finger until nothing but a dull pleasure begins to coil in his stomach.

"Clint, I'm adding another finger, ok?" He makes a lazy nod.

There was another finger added and he started to trash about. It felt thicker and _fuller_ inside him but it wasn't at all unpleasant _._ He's being opened up and he's accepting more and more of Phil into his body. He wanted to cum. He needed to come. So bad, so bad that he had to close his eyes for a moment to reign it all back in.

The only sign that Phil was still mentally present was the small brush of stubble against the inside of his thigh. Clint supposes that it was an accident, or even an apologetic gesture, but it sent electric shocks all the way to his toes. He sent medical good graces that there were thick leather straps keeping his legs in place. Else, he could have shoved a metal toed boot into Coulson's face without meaning to.

"Coulson, oh god, _right there_ , please, shit, fuck, Coulson--Phil, please _Phil,_ sir, I---" He nearly comes when Phil partially pulls out his fingers and pushes back in with a small curve. However, the firm hand around his cock stops him. Clint know the exact moment that Coulson found his prostate because damn fuck it felt so good that he momentarily whites out.

"I found it" Phil says and Clit swears, on the orgasm-induced bliss that he is in, that he can hear a smile in those words. Phil presses it again, either to tease or to make sure it wasn't an accident, and Clint hisses behind his teeth because, fuck, now he wanted more than fingers up his ass. Phil runs his fingers lightly over it just enough to make Clint's drool on the side of his mouth. He doesn't wipe it off. His brain is to fuzzy to even comprehend it. He lets it make a mess on his face because he's too far gone to care.

"Yes you did, sir." Clint coos as Phil begins to massage the small lump of nerves tenderly while making smooth languid strokes on his cock. The ghost of Phil's breath hovers over Clint's cock and he absolutely cherishes the feel of it. He wants Coulson to lick him and suckle on the head of his cock like it was a lollipop. "I'm so glad that you did, sir. I'm happy that it was you. I'm so, so fucking proud that _you_ found it when no one else has. Thank you, sir." he mumbles in a daze. "Please, sir. I need..."

"What do you need, _Clint_?" His name on Phil's lips makes his dick twitch in giddiness. Clint's pretty sure he's leaking now. He can _feel_ the pearl white liquid oozing out the tip of his cock.

"Medical says I need to be milked, sir. But I really, really want your cock inside me." His lust-filled brain doesn't even comprehend what he just said but Phil seems to have. The older man leans down, trailing kisses over the insides of _both_ his thighs until he's a quivering mess. All the while, tenderly stroking his cock and rubbing fingers against his prostate in tantalizing pace.

Phil trails past his cock and reaches with tongue to the place right beneath his balls. The man makes the wet muscle impossibly taunt and licks roughly underneath the base of his balls near his hole. "Jesus fuck, sir. I'm gonna... please, sir." Clint moans deep and throaty. He hits his head hard against the padded bed and arches his back like a perfect bow. His toes curl inside his boots. There are stars and rainbow and really, really dirty slurping noises as Phil mouths his balls.

He curses the fact that medical has a big mirror right by the door and he can see himself. He can see just how much of a slut he's become under Phil's touches. He sees the lewd way his body is spread out and the stiffness of Phil's shoulders as he works between his legs. His hands fly on to Phil's head, holding him in place. "Tell me, sir. Please, tell me I can cum." he begs.

Phil releases the hold on his balls, adjusts his grip until the pad of hands his firm against Clint's ass and his thump is in the perfect position to externally touch Clint's prostate. His works his hands into delicious exhaustion as Clint melts into a quivering mess. He should really, get a condom but Clint's allergic to latex. So he goes for the next best thing.

"Jesus, Phil, please!" Clint groans broken and raw as he arches of the bed again. He must be dreaming, he thinks, because Phil is nuzzling the side of his cock and licking at the pubes. His mind flat lines when Phil's tongue draws a long wet line on the underside of his cock and his head is captured in Phil's hot mouth. "Oh god, Phil. Jesus, shit. I'm gonna explode. Phil, please. Don't stop, fuck. That's so good." he screams as Phil begins a gentle sucking while licking the underside with his tongue.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he whimpers, thrusting upwards with all his might until the head of his cock hits the back of Phil's throat and he shoots his load in pulses. Phil takes the cue and presses hard against his prostate and it's like his universe exploded. He is crying at the sheer _pleasure_ of his release. His body is pliant and his muscles relax like he's never experienced before. His orgasm is mind blowing that he doesn't stop pulsing for a good minute or so. All of it into Phil's waiting mouth while the man makes lewd slurping noises.

His dick deflates but the steady pressure on his insides is still there, soothing and milking his prostate until he spills the very last drop. Phil's mouth doesn't leave him. He's come so much that the sides of Phil's mouth are oozing with thick white semen. "Fuck" he breathes out and looks at Phil's face. Phil's lips are red and lax, his cheeks are smeared by cooling cum, and his brow is filled with sweat. "Wow, sir" he manages to tease. "Should have done that ages ago if I get to see you properly dishevelled like this. Damn fine sight, if I do say so myself."

"Clint" Phil's voice is somewhat shaky. He watches as Phil unsteadily stands up and leans. He can smell the saltiness of his cum and Phil's scent mingling in the air. It's the hottest thing he's ever smelled in his entire life. He looks straight into Phil's eyes and finally registers the lust in those dark blue orbs. "Did you mean what you said?"

"Which one, sir?" he asks lightly. He doesn't stop a whine when Phil's finger leave his hole making him feeling hallow and empty. "That you were great, that you were awesome, that you can fucking blow my mind like that any time? I said a lot of things, sir. I'm pretty mouthy during sex."

Phil gives a somewhat-chuckle that's hidden by a cough into his hand. Yes, the hand slick with saliva that was up Clint's ass just a few seconds ago. It effectively smears more of Clint's come on his face. "That wasn't sex, Barton."

Clint winces at the name. So they're back to Agent Barton and Agent Coulson now, weren't they?

"Clint" Phil corrects himself when he sees the wince. He pushes back the chair and stands to his full height in front of Clint. The medical chair was the perfect height with Clint's ass just in front of Phil's crotch. Clint finally realizes that there's a tent in Phil's slacks. He's pretty sure that wasn't there when this whole thing started. There's a blossom of fondness is his chest when he realizes that Phil is _like that_ because of _him_.

Clint gives Phil one of his biggest smiles and loops his arms behind Phil's neck. "Yes, please" he answers. Phil leans in and licks away the tears on Clint's cheeks. He didn't even know he had cried during his orgasm. That never, ever happened to him. But he appreciates the way Phil is showering his face in kisses. "Come're" he whispers and crushes their lips together.

The kiss is chaste and close-mouthed despite the cum smearing between their faces. He doesn't care because he can finally kiss Phil and it's amazing. He wants to kiss this man forever. He pays no attention to the rustle of fabric beneath his ass and the sound of Phil's belt buckle hitting the floor. He's content with just kissing, for now.

"Oh" he moans into Phil's mouth when the blunt head of Phil's cocks lines up in his ass.

"I know your refraction time, Agent. Is this okay? Tell me, it's okay because I--" Clint kisses him to shut him up and guides Phil's cock closer, pulling the other man by the collar of his dress shirt. He doesn't even mind  that Phil called him 'agent' and the man clearly knew how much it turned him on.

"You can fuck me any fucking time of any fucking day, sir" Clint replies with a sheepish smile. He stares straight into Phil's eyes as he said it and the man's gorgeous blue orbs turn feral. The sight is enough to make his limp dick twitch but it won't be another minute or so before he's fully erect again. He relishes in the unimpeded feeling of being breaches and being opened. The chair helps, the chair helps a lot because neither of them have to support his weight and he can just concentrate on taking Phil's cock into his body.

"So tight" he heard Phil gritting behind clenched teeth.

"It's been a while, sir" he retorts back because it's true. There hadn't been anyone else since he was raped. He wouldn't let anyone near his ass. He didn't trust anyone that well to give him virginity to them. Although, technically he wasn't a virgin anymore. But damn, this feeling of being filled by Phil was more than anything the heavens could ever give him. It just felt so right.

The slide is glorious. The feeling of bare skin inside him. It's Phil's bare cock inside his ass. It marvellous and amazing and beyond anything he's ever dreamed about. Phil is the perfect size, just fat enough not to tear him apart and long enough to touch his walls in all the right places. It's delicious and he never wants it to end. He wants to stay like this with Phil just inside him. He wants to stay connected forever.

"You aren't hitting my prostate, sir" He moans between Phil's thrust. He feels the side of Phil's mouth curve against his neck.

"I know. I'm savouring it" Phil murmurs into the side of his neck and nuzzles right below his ear. "I'm savouring you" he says, octaves lower than his lower voice and it sends jolts of pleasure to Clint's belly. "Because you're so fucking good. I've imagined you so many times, Clint. God, I can't even believe that I'm inside you right now. You feel so great around my cock. It's like you were made for me. Fuck, it's unbelievable."

Clint did the same and buried his face on Phil's shoulder, feeling the older man roll his hips and make a circle around his walls. "Again!" he demands wanting the stupid leather straps on his legs gone so he can wrap it around Phil's waist and draw their bodies closer. Phil complies and this time brushes across is prostate. "Fuck, fuck, Phil. Jesus!" he curses, digging fingers on Phil's arms enough to bruise in tomorrow. It will be blotchy and blue and will be hidden under the man's impeccable suits. All the other agents will be none the wiser.

"Again, again, again" he commands as Phil begins to pound into him with relentless pace, pushing him against the examination table that his head his the cushioned back a few times. Phil's brows furred together, sweat gleamed from his forehead, and his breath was rough against Clint's neck. "Phil, Jesus you're so fucking hot. How are you single?"

Phil pauses for a moment, removes the hand on either side of the bed and cups Clint's face in his hands. "You." he says without explanation. "I fucking wanna see your face when I spill inside you, Clint. Can I do that? Can I fill your ass with my cum until it leaks?" he asks with all the seriousness of Agent Coulson in the midst of sex can muster.

"Yes" Clint permits and clenches his ass to emphasize.

"God you're amazing." Phil tells him and begins the relentless pace again until they are both panting and sweating and "Oh jesus fuck!" Phil yells when Clint bites the inside of his wrist. He spurts. Clint doesn't even have to jerk himself off because Phil hits his prostate in just the right fucking time. He can _feel_ Phil's come covering the bundle of nerves and it's enough to push him over the edge as well.

"Jesus fuck" Clint groans as he pulls Phil closer and lathers the man's light grey dress shirt with his warm cum. Phil doesn't protest and slumps against him. Buttons are pressed and his legs are released and the leg-rests are lowered. Clint makes an appreciative noise. He has enough strength left in his jello legs to wrap them around Phil's waist, keeping him in place.

"Best damn exam ever, sir. Did I pass?"

He can feel the vibration of Phil's chuckles on his chest and a muffled reply.

"With flying colours, Barton."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Really don't know what other tags I should put up. Just comment if I missed some, yeah? Unbeta-ed. So if you wanna beta it, by all means, I will be eternally gratefully. First story in this fandom. How did I do? It's an open ending, lots of issues that still need to be addressed. It can possibly be lengthened in the future it inspirations strikes me. Toodles!
> 
> [ **Got a prompt?** ](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/)


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